Afterwe'd been discovered in the woods and rushed to a nearby hospital, the FortCrow police stormed the home of Stirling Sharp and discovered his wife, dead onthe kitchen floor. While nobody would ever truly know what had happened andwhy, it seemed she'd been brutally stabbed after Sharp had seen the receiptfrom the abortion clinic, which was later found on Sharp's body.
Withinthe house, they found a box in Sharp's bedroom of what appeared to be mementosfroma number ofwomen, who we now suspected to be hisvictims. Then, there was the cellar, a dingy, dark room with a dirty,blood-stained bed and an assortment of knives. There was no doubt in anybody’smind that he had killed several women in that room, and how his wife hadmanaged to live with it for all those years, not a soul would ever be able tounderstand. I liked to believe she had just been scared; the alternative wasfar too upsetting.
Nobodycould say for sure just how many women Sharp had killed, not until theforensics team was finished with their DNA analysis of his trophies. But it wasa consolation to my heart, to know that their names would be known, and theirfamilies could finally be notified.
“Yeshould becheckin' all nearby accidental deaths oftourists,” I mentioned to Constable Abernathy, as we walked through the kitchenand into the living room, where a broken TV sat in front of an old, grimy sofa.
“Aye,”he replied, nodding. “I think they're already on it, but I'll tell them back atthe office.”
Then,he pointed at an open closet by the front door. “Right in there, we found anarsenal of illegal firearms. Idinnaekenwhyhedidnaebring them all withhim, but …”
“Hedidnaehave to,” I said, limping over to peer insidethe closet. The carpet was matted to the floor from water damage and moldtrailed up the wall and over the ceiling. “He never intended to kill more thanhe had to.”
“Butthen, why have so many?”
Iturned from the moldy closet to look him in the eye and asked, “Why did he killso many women?”
Heblinked and considered the question, opening his mouthanumber oftimes as though he might've come to a conclusion, beforefinally saying, “Idinnaeken.”
“Becauseit excited him,” I explained. “There was a thrill in it that hewasnaegettin' anywhere else. Isuspect thatobtainin' illegal gunswouldaedone the same thing for him. Remember, as far as weknow, hedidnaeshoot any of his victims—”
“Well… he did,” he replied, gesturing awkwardly toward me, as if to remind me ofrecent events. As if I could have forgotten.
Iheld up a finger, forcing the memory from my mind. There would be time toreflect on that, but not now.
“Onlywhen he had to,” I said pointedly. “He used the gun as a last resort. He wasmuch happier to kill his victims with his hands, or in close combat. A gun wastoo …”Openyereyes. I want ye to look at me.“Too …impersonal.”
Theimages of Sharp's disgusting assault on Rosie would forever be burned againstmy mind. I cringed to know how long I'd be having those nightmares, and howlongshewould suffer with them as well. But I would gladly live withthose terrors every night of my life, knowing that she was at least alive, withthe chance to heal.
“Therewas one other thing I wanted to tell ye for now,” he said, and I raised aninquisitive brow. “We found a diary, written by Sharp. Ye can read sometime,but he had writtensomethin' I thought would be ofinterest to ye.”
Hetold me that Sharp had written about his childhood. Of the beatings he sufferedat the hands of his father and the verbal abuse he'd endured from his mother.He had also noted the physical torment he'd witnessed his father deal to hismother on a regular basis for disrespecting him in one way or another. Then, hewrote of siblings—a brother and sister. His sister had been the favorite of thefamily, their little princess, and never suffered the same treatment theirparents had forced upon the boys. So,Sharpand hisbrother had enjoyed dealing her the same torture they were made to livethrough.
Itwas a heartbreaking tale, the evidence of how a boy could be broken and turnedinto a cold-blooded killer. A part of me wanted to pity the man and apologizefor a childhood I had nothing to do with, but at some point, we all need to beheld accountable for the choices we make. Sharp had made his and had paid forthem, too.
“There'smore, but let's step outside. Icannaestand tobreathe in this shite anymore,” he said, and I agreed. I was done there, withnothing more that I cared to see, and so, we left to stand beside his car.
Abernathypulled out a carton of cigarettes and offered one to me. I declined with a waveof my hand, and he nodded. “I'mtryin' to quit,” hemuttered, then shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “Ah, who am Ikiddin'. I've beensmokin' sinceI was a weeladdie. Why stopnow,whenI'm already an old fuckin' man?”
Then,he sighed and said, “Sharp's brother, William, went to school with ye. Did yeken?”
Inarrowed my eyes, trying to recall a William from my youth, only to come upwith a few vague memories of several. “I knew a few lads by that name.Wasnaeaware one was related to him.”
“Aye.A real shite, apparently. But I suppose hewouldaebeen,seein' how they were treated at home, the poorboys,” he said, giving his head a forlorn shake. “Sharp wrote about anincident, in which his brother and a few of his arsehole friends lured anunsuspectin' weeladdieintothose woods and roped him to a tree. They tormented him for a time, beforeleavin' him out there to freeze to death. That was theirintent. To kill this wee boy. Is thatringin' anybells for ye?”
Acold shiver ran the length of my spine, as my eyes slammed shut and I swallowedagainst the immortal taunt of the past. “I-I-It d-does, aye.”
“Brodie…” He looked away, unable to look his superior in the eye, knowing now aboutthe demons lurking in his past. “Christ, man, I'm sorry that happened to ye. Ithought maybe ye had some idea they were related.”
Ishook my head. “No.” Then, after taking a deep swallow of air, I asked, “Whatever happened to Sharp's brother and sister?”
Hesucked on the end of his cigarette, then exhaled the smoke toward the sky.“Well,” he began, “his sister owns TheWhisperin'Crow Inn. We questioned her yesterday, and she told us that Stirling regularlycame to visit her. They were verra close, as twisted as it seems, and Iactually pitied the poor woman,knowin’ her entirefamily is no longer with her.”
Layinga hand over my eyes, I sighed and said, “That explains how he even found Gracein the first place.”
“Aye,”Abernathy concurred. “We figured as much. She feels responsible, even though wetold her not to, but …”
“Howcould she not?” I grumbled, shifting against the crutch.
